Black Heart
by Nightofthedragons
Summary: The demon is devouring him.. Arthur Kirkland a.k.a. England can't fight for much longer... He doesn't want to hurt his friends.. how will he survive?
1. The Beginning

A/N: New story! I'm hoping it goes well~ I have not written in a while..

**sighs** oh well

The alley way was dark. Pitch black. People never came here, ever. No light was shed. This place was cursed. Not one person in their right mind would come here. Or so they said. However, a certain somebody did have business here. Of course, one would assume that somebody having business in a place such as this would not be here on terms such as grocery shopping. WRONG. Well, kind of. Depends on what you count as grocery shopping. If you count grocery shopping as ingredients for a powerful spell, then yes. And that is exactly what Arthur Kirkland was doing.

"That one please. No! Not the eye! THE LEG! THE LEG YOU BLOODY IDIOT!"

Arthur, more commonly known as England, was about to lose it. This newbie, this, this idiotic CHILD, obviously did not know a thing about the dark arts. He had been to this little shop before and never before had this happened. Of course, after his day had already been horrible somebody decided to make it worse. He let out a sigh. The young boy- or wait was it a boy? He didn't remember the child's name and after an hour of hearing his high voice he didn't bother making his head-ache worse by racking his brains.

"Mister? Is this it? He snapped back to reality. The kid finally managed to get a chimera leg. Wasn't the best one ever, but it would do

"Thank you" He set the gold coins along with a drop of his blood for payment and left.

England walked home, very annoyed. He wanted nothing more than to relax with a nice cup of tea. But no! Of course he couldn't! Because he was special. He was part-demon. PART-DEMON! It was painful, annoying, terrifying... and after months of agony he finally managed to get the last ingredient of the spell. Hopefully it worked. Hopefully. England arrived home and went straight to the basement where all of his magic took place. He rummaged around for a bit getting everything set up. Finally he could begin. Or so he thought. The first symptom was an head-splitting head-ache. He knew what would happen, but every time the pain got worse. He sank to the floor, head pounding. Those horns.. he could feel them trying to get through. He screamed.

"MAKE IT STOP!" It was agonizing. By now England was writhing on the floor in agony. It was useless to try to stop the transformation. The more he struggled the worse he got. After 30 minutes of of screaming in pain, it was done. Tall black horns, huge black leathery wings and a black tail. He popped his neck.

"Feels good to be back" He got up and smiled. This was gonna be fun.

Chapter 1: Done. I hoped you liked it! Please tell what you think :)


	2. And so he starts

**A/N: This will probably be like a manga once a week upload. UNLESS I GET LUCKY AND HAVE TIME TO WRITE**

The demon glided upstairs, grinning. He had a lot of business to take care of. "Arthur" sat down for a cup of tea and some scones. He bit into one.

"What.. the hell.. IS THIS?" He spit out the revolting treat.

"Bastard can't cook for the life of him." He barely managed to finish the cup of tea, it was simply.. horrible. The blonde sighed and got ready to go find something suitable to eat. Before he could get out of the house, there was a knocking.

"MI ANGELTERRE!" What..? Who.. The demon racked Arthur's brains for a minute before he finally understood who it was. The country name France. He hid his wings, horns and tail and opened the door.

"What the bloody hell do you want?" England glared at France

"Honhonhon. You seem in a worse mood than usual"

"Shut up bastard. If you've come to pester me go away" France raised an eyebrow. Something didn't feel right about England.

"H-hey, is everything alright" A sick smile appeared on England's face.

"Since you refuse to shut up, I'll have to do this the hard way" The elements of the demon re-appeared.

France's eyes widened.

"A-angelterre?" His voice was full of fear. Just what he loved. The feeling of people realizing the countdown had begun. Their hearts pounding, pulse racing. Fear was a wonderful thing, he fed off it. Before France could even blink, the other nation had his hand around his throat. Choking him.

"Goodbye Francis, your time in this world is over"

"E-England.. let.. go.. it's me" England laughed.

"Yes, the nation whose soul shall finally become mine! The stupid nation who believed that we were friends! Stupid stupid!" France's eyes were full of hurt and shock. Even if they did fight, he always had a liking toward the British man. He did think they were friends.

"England.. s'il vous plait" England's eyes showed no mercy.

"Goodbye" He muttered an incantation and France's body was frozen, then it started shining. The Frenchman let out a scream as he felt something being torn out of his body. It was agonizing, it burned, it hurt, he wanted it to stop.

"PLEASE!" England smirked.

"It'll be over soon, the last of your soul is leaving" France's body shimmered, and a split-second later, his soul was in England's hand.

"Thank you for this meal" He licked his lips and dropped France's soul into mouth. It was delicious, savory, smooth. It was obviously high-grade, he hadn't had a meal this good in ages. Realizing he was was still holding France, he dropped him. The nation fell to the floor with a sickening thud. England walked away leaving France on the floor, dead.


	3. The Funeral

Sad, gloomy, unromantic. The exact opposite of how France would have wanted his funeral to be. It was chilly and overcast and some countries had an umbrella just in case. England stood away from the large crowd. He managed to regain control shortly after he had killed France. Of course the others didn't know how France died. As far as they knew the blond had died from too much alcohol. England was doing everything in his power not to snap. All of a sudden he felt a hand on his shoulder.  
"Hey, man" America. Great, just what he needed.

"This was hard on all of us, nobody saw it coming" England looked at America, trying to wrap his mind around what he was saying.

"What are you-" England was cut off by a wail. He looked over and Seychelles was sobbing her eyes out. The small nation was emotional and it wasn't a surprise that she would have this reaction.

"FRANCE!" She couldn't stop crying. A few nations tried to comfort her, all unsuccessful. England sighed and walked over. He awkwardly patted her back.  
"There there.. it's okay"

"France gone ahh waah!" England tried to make sense of what Seychelles was saying.

"Shh.. he wouldn't want you crying." Seychelles said something uncomprehensible.

"Please don't cry.. ahh.." Seychelles sniffled, at least she calmed down a bit. In another corner Prussia was screaming about how France couldn't be dead. He was too awesome!

"Mi amigo, p-please calm down" Spain was hopelessly trying to calm him down. The Bad Touch Trio didn't exist anymore. He wouldn't have wanted this. Everybody crying over him, or maybe he would. Ah..French bastard. Why did he care so much?

"Frog face." A tear escaped.

"Are you _CRYING_ England?" Of course America would announce it to the whole world. He wiped away the tear.

"What?! No! Why would I be crying America?"

"Dude, you were totally crying!

"No."

"Yeah."

"NO."

"Hell Yeah!" They stared into each other's eyes, America just wanting to be right, England not wanting to admit that he was cry.

"Tch. Whatever." England walked off. America sighed. England was acting strange lately, and France's death was no help to his attitude.

"Damn." He was thinking too much, and worst of all he didn't have any burgers or milkshakes with him. All of a sudden a loud wail turned everybody's attention to Prussia.

"It is not France! It can't be! IT"S NOT HIS BODY IN THE COFFIN!"

"Por favor, Prussia." Spain looked like he was about to cry.

"I am the awesome Prussia.. I would know," he said quietly. Everybody stared, not wanting to say anything. People knew the three countries were close friends, but nobody expected this reaction.

Spain spoke up, "Please excuse him." They left.


	4. Torn Feelings

**So.. I've been evil and haven't uploaded for a while.. BUT..I will give you TWO chapters this week~ :)**

England sat in his living room, drinking a cup of tea. After Spain and Prussia left, the service went fairly peacefully. Fairly. He sighed.  
"Stupid frog face." He hated him for dying. France abandoned him. Wait. Why did he care? He hated-no. He didn't. They fought a lot, but deep down both knew that they were best friends. Right? No. Yes. Maybe?

"Dammit! What's with all this feely stuff?!" England stood up.  
"I'd better take a walk." As he was walking out the door, England heard a hissing noise. A snake, were no snakes in his house. So what was it? A pain exploded in his head. No. No!

"_Kill.. blood..soul.. war.. blood..soul."_

"No! GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE!" Not again. No more killing people! The pain died down and the hissing sound went away. It was safe for now. Maybe he shouldn't take a walk. A nap sounded nice.

Spain was munching on a tomato. He didn't feel like doing anything. France was dead. Prussia was going mad with grief. What was the point in life? There was none anymore.

"Hey! Tomato bastard! Come here!" Romano was calling him, he better go.

"What?' Romano looked irratated.

"I make you food and you look like you couldn't care less!" Spain looked surprised.

"S-sorry. I'm not hungry."

"Eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"You look like a stick! How will you protect me from that potato jerk Germany?!"

Spain sighed. It was useless to argue with him.

"Fine." He sat down at the table. In front of him was _escalivada. _He took a small bite. Not it was quite tasty.

"Thanks Romano."

"Hmph."

Prussia paced around his house, holding a knife in his hand. Shit. France was dead. Another person who was close to him had died. Why? Why did God hate him? What had he done? Why why why why?

"GODAMMIT!" He hated his life. He wanted it to end. There was nobody left. Ludwig had Italy and Japan. Spain had Romano. Hungary..she didn't love him. She loved that ass Austria. Nobody. One person was there. Old Fritz. Then he died. Nobody nobody nobody. Alone alone alone. Those words raced through his mind. Prussia looked at the knife in his hand.

"Damn," he growled. A coward, that's what he was. Prussia threw the knife. It landed in the couch.

Tears stung at his eyes. No point in life. Not anymore. He let out a screamed a flow of curse words. It wasn't fair. Why was he stuck with the all the bad memories? Why did he suffer so much? He was the Awesome Prussia! He was too awesome for this! No. Not anymore.


End file.
